Favourite Year
by Tentative Steps
Summary: A time in Nikki's childhood that she actually enjoyed. Massively AU fic based on one tiny little line in 'Voids' - "It's like... getting married at sixteen".
1. Prologue

Favourite Year

_A 'Silent Witness' fanfic by Saffy Scarlett_

**TITLE: **Favourite Year  
**CHARACTERS: **Nikki, principally.  
**SPOILERS: **Literally one line in Voids, series 13.  
**SUMMARY: **A time in Nikki's childhood which wasn't quite so bad… Massively AU, but I can't be the only one who's wanted to write this fic! Possible multi-chap. Who knows? (Not me!)  
**A/N:** Title based on the 'Dixie Chicks' song. As previously explained, am country music whore.

And, I swear, I'm not breaking my "being nice to Nikki" vow. Much. Well, OK, I'm trying really hard not to. I won't hospitalise her, I swear.

This is dedicated to Immortal Spud Thief, who first drew my attention to the line in question, by the way…

* * *

Prologue

"You really don't get it do you?" she steams, trying to get past him. He blocks her in.

To everyone around them, it's a lover's tiff, and nothing more.

To him, it's legal; purely legal. Well, it's legal, and it's a matter of pride. To him, everything's a matter of pride, and especially when it comes to her. He can't lose his dignity in front of her, and so, instead, he chooses to lose his temper. It's not the choice he should have made, but then, he didn't know. He didn't know any of it; any of what was driving her.

Because, to her, it's more. To her, it's so much more. It's a memory of an argument from the past. It's a memory of a time she'd rather forget, because she let herself lose it, and she wants it back. It's a memory of a golden summer, and a first love, and a kiss, and nothing, and blankness, and happiness, and sorrow, and bliss…

"When investigations get tunnel vision," she continues, knowing that it's not 'investigations' that she means, "it's chronic." She doesn't even pause; this is an argument she remembers, this is a fight she's fought before, a line she's reciting, from memory, while trying to forget who said it before. "It's a black hole."

He's still staring at her, as she tries to push past, and he's still ignoring the look of pure, unadulterated hate in her eyes. He knows they'll make up. He knows it will all be alright, in the end. He knows that she'll forgive him.

The last time she had this fight, though, it wasn't quite that simple.

"It's like…" she breathes, and this time, she does pause for thought. She pauses, and she calculates, and in the end she can't hold the words in; they just come spilling out: "It' like getting married at sixteen."

She doesn't see the look of confusion on his face, and the remark is swept aside, and forgotten, amongst a million others. The significance, though, is about to become horribly apparent.


	2. Emily

**A/N: ****Lyrics at the start of _all_ chapters are © Dixie Chicks**

* * *

Emily

"_And would you know me now?  
Would you lay me down beside you?  
Tell me all the things I long to hear…  
Like that was your favourite year"_

_*_

**15th July 2010, the Lyle Centre.**

If he thinks for long enough, it'll come to him – but he won't, because he's Harry, and he's busy, and besides, it's not his responsibility to remember who people are, is it?

Except, he's never met her before.

That girl is how old? Maybe eighteen? Doing work experience during the summer before heading to Med School for what will feel like the rest of her life, probably. He's clearly never met her before, and yet he feels like he already knows her; like he ought to know her already.

She is small, and waif, with delicate brown eyes and striking, red hair curling loosely down her back. She's wearing skinny jeans, Converses, and a green t-shirt, which clashes madly with her hair. A thin gold chain snakes round her neck, and down, into her t-shirt, and her arms are clutching a pair of baby blue scrubs, which she's glancing at apprehensively as Leo leads her through the offices to the locker room. She looks like any other eighteen year old girl who's done work experience at the Lyle Centre, and yet she doesn't. Harry smiles, nevertheless, and waits for Leo to come back through, so that he can ask twenty questions, wondering where exactly Nikki is when he needs her. Nikki would know. Nikki would definitely know. Nikki always knew these kinds of things…

And then it hits him: Nikki. He'd never seen a photo of her as a teenager, because, for some reason, she'd wiped that part of her life off the face of the Earth, but he imagined that, when she was eighteen, she looked exactly like that girl, except blonde.

He shrugs, marvelling at how random the world is, sometimes, and goes back to his paperwork, barely glancing up when Leo walks past.

When the girl emerges from the locker room, though, he smiles, again, and introduces himself; "Doctor Cunningham." He says, holding out his hand, "Harry. Forensic –"

"Pathologist." She smiles, "I know." She takes his hand, and shakes it, as though she has known him all her life. He blinks, a little surprised, but shakes back. "I'm Emily." The girl smiles, "nice to meet you."

As she walks past him, he could swear that he hears her whisper "at last" – but he's sure he's imagining it.

*

"Harry!" Leo calls, at about lunchtime, "crime scene for you."

Harry takes post-it note Leo offers him, and quickly scans the address, pulling his car keys from his pocket as he walks towards to exit. Then, something hits him; "where's Nikki today?" he asks.

Leo looks guilty, but avoids answering the question by saying "do you think you could take Emily with you?"

"Sure." Harry replies. "Why's she here, anyway? Work experience?"

"Yes."

"She doing pathology at uni in September, then?"

"Yes."

"Is she certain about that?"

"Why?" Leo asks, perplexed.

Harry shrugs; "she looks too…" ha pauses, unable to think of an appropriate word.

"Feminine?" Leo offers, smirking.

"Yes." Harry agrees. "She looks too feminine to want to be a pathologist. She should do something less morbid. Like surgery."

"Oh, sure!" Leo laughs, "because then she could see the gory bits inside people _whilst they're still alive_. Much more feminine."

"You know what I mean…" Harry sighs, rolling his eyes.

"You know, I'm not sure I do." Leo says, and Harry cocks an eyebrow, questioningly. "Well, isn't Nikki too feminine to be a pathologist, by that assessment?" he asks, and Harry smiles;

"I suppose so."

Leo notices something in that smile; it's more than the love and friendship and warmth that he usually sees in Harry's smiles, when Nikki is the topic of conversation. It's something much more than that. It's recognition. It's as though he knows, which, of course, he can't. No one here knows. Except Leo.

The moment passes, and Harry turns back to his boss. "Where's Nikki?" he asks, again, because she hasn't picked up her phone all morning, and because he needs to tell her how Emily bares her such a striking resemblance, and because he misses her.

"She's… taken the day off." Leo answers, clearly avoiding the truth. Harry shrugs; it's not the first time, and besides, he has a crime scene to get to.

"I'll call her later." He tells Leo, before walking out of the room. A moment later, though, his head pops back through Leo's door, and he asks "are you sure Emily's ready to go to a scene? I mean she can't be more than eighteen…"

"She _is_ eighteen." Leo confirms. "And she's been ready all her life, Harry." He smiles, noticing the compassion in Harry's eyes. It's as though he's put it all together, subconsciously, and doesn't want to mention anything, just in case he's wrong, or because it is only subconscious, and he's not even aware himself that he's worked it out.

He will, tomorrow, Leo knows, when Nikki comes back.

He'll start to wonder when he sees how much Emily already knows, at the crime scene, pretty soon, but he'll not work it out, finally, until he sees them standing next to each other.

It blew Leo away when he first heard. He didn't believe it, at first; it was such an absurd story, and it was the kind of story that never had a happy ending. Except… except that, in this case, it did. But, the one thing that had confirmed it had been seeing them standing there, side by side. The resemblance really was uncanny.


	3. Strawberry Chewing Gum

**A/N: This chapter is for Gemma, PixieMind, thisisagift, and especially greyswholost, because she's also known as EMILY! :)**

**Thank you for the gorgeous reviews!**

**And… please forgive blatant AU-ness of this chapter. I don't know where Nikki went to school. As you're about to find out. Hmmm.**

* * *

Strawberry Chewing Gum

"_Holding on to the memories  
Of when we were younger  
I can't forget"_

**7th September 1990, South London**

The third new school in five years was always going to be the hardest, because of that horrid old idiom, 'third time lucky'. As Nikki Alexander is directed to the Head's office of a boring old brown brick building somewhere vaguely near where she lives, she doesn't hold her breath. She knows this one won't be any different from the others. She still has her South African accent; she's still going to be an outsider. She just hopes that, this time, perhaps, because she's finally broken her father on the whole private school issue, her voice might not be so strikingly different.

She's fifteen. She left South Africa almost ten years ago, and she's still got the accent. To her father, it makes no sense. To her, it does. She clings to it; it's the only identity she has left. She hated the private schools she's been forced to since she was five, and she hated them because the people were snobbish and judgemental and the same. They were clones of Mummy and Daddy, where she was different. At this school, the first comprehensive she's ever been to, she's hoping she'll not be so different… but she's not holding her breath.

She only has a year left, anyway, she knows. Then, it's A levels, and she can go to college, or Sixth Form, and she can hide away in free periods, and she won't have to study English Literature and pretend like she cares any more. She'll be able to study sciences, and only sciences, and she'll be among people more like her. Then she can go to university, and then she can go back to South Africa. Then…

She's woken from her fantasies with a jolt as the Head Teacher holds out his hand for her to shake. He's a tall, imposing looking man, and his office is equally grim. But there's a boy about her age sitting in the chair in front of the desk, and he doesn't have uniform on, either. She can only see the back of his head, but she already likes what she sees. She's not had much to compare him with, really, because this is the first co-educational school she's ever been to, but the idea of maybe, just maybe, starting on the same day as someone else already seems reassuring.

She follows the Head's lead, and sits beside the boy, when the chair's indicated to her. She smiles at the boy, and he smiles back, his bright green eyes lighting up as he runs a hand through his slightly too long red hair.

"Right…" the Head says, very definitely, "My name's Mr Morris. Welcome to Oakland High School." They both nod, glancing around them as they take in their surroundings. "You're very lucky," Mr Morris continues, "to be starting newly together, because you're in many of the same classes, so you won't be completely alone."

This is good news for Nikki, and she smiles again, leaning a little further into the chair, feeling comforted. Because she's never been around boys her own age, she doesn't know that she's supposed to be nervous, and so she feels completely at ease. The fact that this boy will be with her makes her happy, and she can tell that he feels equally comforted. But, because she's never spent time with boys her own age, she doesn't notice the way his eyes glide up her legs, and linger on her hair. She doesn't notice, so she doesn't care. He smiles. That's all that matters.

"Right. So. Yes, rules. Much the same as any other school." Mr Morris, she realises, is in a hurry, and doesn't want to have to explain everything to them. She does exactly what she's done every other time she's sat in a Head's office for this purpose, and nods, pretending like everything's fine, so as to save him the hassle. She'll settle in of her own accord. Or not.

"Maps." The Head says, handing them each a sheet of paper with a school plan on, "and timetables. You know the uniform requirements?"

They nod.

"On your way, then? You can skip form; that's unnecessary. Go to the library, and get to know each other. Then," he leans across the desk, to read their timetables, "biology. Enjoy!"

Nikki smiles. Her first lesson is biology. And she won't be alone.

*

The boy's name is Jacob. He's a couple of months older than her – already sixteen – and he's moved down from Durham. His parents are professors, and his father just got a job at King's College. His mother's on sabbatical in Siberia for a year and a half, and he's been through the new school thing almost as much as she has. He has a Yorkshire accent; his mother's last professorship was at the University of York, and he preferred the small city to the little town of Durham, where his father lived. His life is as unconventional as hers. And, he wants to study sciences, too. He is, in every way, perfect.

All this she learns in that half a lesson in the library, before they venture tentatively out into the corridors, looking for the biology laboratory, where they agree to sit together, so that they can have weird accents together, and so that they aren't so intimidated.

She won't tell him where her accent is from, though. "You have to guess." She giggles, when he asks for the second time, on the way to the labs.

"Australia."

"No."

"New Zealand."

"You guessed that before."

"I really don't know." He laughs, although, when he says it, it sounds more like "dern't kner". She suspects that he's exaggerating his own accent so that she doesn't feel like quite such an outsider, and she's grateful for it.

Eventually, halfway through their lunch break, as they sit on a wall at the end of the playing field, their legs swinging, childlike, in front of them, she says "South Africa. I'm from South Africa."

He whistles long and low, appreciatively. "Wow."

"What?" she giggles.

"My mother's a forensic." He explains. She glances up at him, confused. He smiles, placing his sandwich down beside him, and wrapping the foil back around it; "forensic science?" he asks. She shrugs. "You know," he continues, "looking medically at dead people, to work out how they died."

"Oh!" she laughs, "right, yeah." Silence; then she adds "my Dad's in the police." In case that might help. He nods:

"So you know about everything that happened in South Africa not so long ago, then?"

She shakes her head: "I moved away when I was five. When my Mum died."

"Oh." He says, a cloud descending on their conversation. "I'm sorry."

He reaches across the small gap between them, and rests his own hand on top of hers, squeezing it gently. They both feel the spark.

She smiles at him, though, and says "no, don't worry. Go on. I want to know. About South Africa. And what happened. And forensic science."

Without knowing it, she's turned into a typical teenage girl, and fallen in love for the first time. She's also discovered her calling. As Jacob tells her about all of the apartheid troubles in South Africa, she realises that her previous schools, and her father, have been keeping things from her all her life, and she starts to resent them even more.

She knows, now, what it is that she wants to do. She wants to give decomposing bodies their justice, and she wants to go home.

But, more than anything, she wants to kiss Jacob.

Even her lack of experience with the opposite sex, however, tells her that this is a bad, bad idea – and so it is an immense relief when _he_ leans down and kisses _her_ instead.

It's her first kiss, and it tastes of strawberry chewing gum.

She'll remember it, and judge other kisses by it, for the rest of her life.

Without knowing it, her life has taken an entirely new course, in a day, and, for the first time ever, she couldn't be happier.


	4. Massively Insignifcant

Massively Insignificant

"_We search for someone else to blame_  
_But sometimes things can't stay the same"_

**15****th**** July 2010, Harry's crime scene.**

"Doctor Cunningham, Home Office Pathologist." Harry says, as he approaches the familiar 'crime scene' tape, scrubbed in, and wielding his ID badge. The police officer nods, and lets him pass, but he refuses to let Emily in without ID. "She's a work experience student." Harry explains.

"Name?" the police officer asks.

"Emily Alexander-Donnelly." The girl smiles, reaching into her rucksack and pulling out a purse containing a student card. The police officer nods, and holds the tape up for her to pass under too. Nervously, Emily follows Harry. She was hoping she wouldn't have to tell him her name; she knows he'll figure it out soon enough. She looks so much like her mother, after all.

They cross the concrete expanse together, Emily marvelling at the feel of scrubs, and Harry clenching and unclenching his fists and his jaw as he tries to work out how to ask what he wants to ask. He's not stupid, Emily knows, but he's not going to accept her, either. He's going to go through every other available option, first, just to be sure, and because, she guesses from what her mother's told her and from what she's deduced, he's not going to want to accept that her mother ever loved anyone else enough to, well, procreate successfully with them.

He's also not going to want to accept that he wasn't ever told about her… but that's her mother's problem. She'll work it out in time.

Eventually, just as the body they've come to investigate comes into view, Harry manages to say what it is he's been building up to: "you know, Emily, you look uncannily like someone I work with."

"Doctor Alexander?" she asks, absently. She tries to keep any semblance of emotion from her voice, but she struggles. She's wanted to meet Harry for so long – ever since she worked out that her mother was head over heels in love with him – and she wants him to know who she is, so that the whole process can be sped up slightly. But, she also wants her mother to have the chance to explain, for herself. From the photos she's seen, and stories she's heard, in her mother's emails and letters and on the few brief occasions she's seen her recently, Emily has worked out that they are both infatuated. But, she also knows that they _haven't_… and she doesn't want to cause an argument.

"Mmm." Harry nods. "Doctor Alexander."

"My name." Emily adds. It's not a question, it's a statement. It's a fact, and she's telling him it. She doesn't explain the relationship between her name and his colleague's, though. She wants to be there to see her mother's face when he confronts her.

As she realises this, she also realises how sadistic it sounds. She doesn't mean it like that; she doesn't want to see her mother hurt. She loves Nicola Alexander very, very much, despite the complexity of their relationship, and she's so glad to finally be allowed back into her mother's life that she doesn't want for one moment to jeopardise that. She just knows from a recent conversation with Professor Dalton that arguments between Doctors Cunningham and Alexander are often sights to behold, because of the passion and force, and the fact that they are both so evidently battling no to break and lean across and kiss each other.

Her mother, she knows, is probably more like a teenage girl that _she_ is – but, then, she stole her mother's teenage years, and so she supposes it's allowed. Maybe.

"So," Harry says, as he bends down to place his bag on the floor and pull on his latex gloves, "is she your Aunt, or something?"

"Something like that, yes." She agrees, although she knows full-well that _he_ knows full-well that her mother doesn't have any siblings – and therefore can have no nieces or nephews.

She decides that changing the subject is probably in everyone's best interests, and so she brings her notebook and pen from her bag, and starts to walk around the body, taking notes.

After a few minutes, she notices that Harry is watching her, a look of utter bemusement on his face. Clearly, he's not used to work experience students with knowledge as detailed as hers.

She points to a complicated injury on the corpse before them, and names it, questioningly. Harry nods, the bemusement growing in parallel with the suspicion: she can _only_ be Nikki's daughter, but she cannot _possibly_ be Nikki's daughter, either. He's Nikki's best friend. He'd know, wouldn't he?

_Wouldn't he?_

He makes some calculations in his head, rapidly. Nikki is thirty-six. Emily is eighteen. So… Nikki would have been seventeen, maybe a little over. He knows that Nikki and men (in general) didn't mix well when combined with alcohol, but the Nikki he knew would never have had an illegitimate child at seventeen… and if she had, she'd not have kept it, or stayed in touch, as she must have, for this veritable mini-Nikki to be standing here, today, bold as brass.

The likeness, though… the likeness is uncanny. And only Nikki's daughter would have been able to walk right in to a crime scene, with no previous experience, to go on to identify the cause of death within five minutes.

It's just so unbelievable, though… It's so irrational, and so ridiculous. How had Nikki raised a child without him knowing? _How_?

"Doctor Cunningham?" Emily asks, dragging Harry out of his thoughts. "Doctor Cunningham?"

"Call me Harry." He says, rolling his eyes to the sky, in despair. Assuming he's right – which he must be, because, after all, he's Harry – he's going to get to know this girl pretty well, soon, so she might as well start calling him Harry.

"Fine." She smiles, "Harry, then."

He nods; "what was it?"

"This." She says, pointing to a scar on the back of the victim's neck – a scar which he, himself, had missed, and which was undoubtedly massively significant.

Yes, he thought, as he crossed to where the Nikki-alike stood, and began to examine the cut she pointed at, this could _only _have been Nikki's daughter. Only Nikki's daughter would be able to put him on the spot like this…


	5. Orphans of Circumstance

**A/N: Excuse super-fast updates. I am in love with this story... **

**I don't know when Nikki's birthday is. Maybe I should… but I don't. It's on May 15****th****, now, though :) Maybe we should have a party ;)**

**Oh, and do excuse Soviet History Geek, when she creeps out of me part way through this chapter. My twitter profile states "OCD for Soviet History and Silent Witness. A somewhat unconventional combination." – but ****I made them fit in this chapter! Ha haaaaa…**

***Ahem***

**

* * *

**

Orphans of Circumstance

_"I can't forget  
Cause when we were together  
That's when I was at my best"_

**15****th**** May 1991, Embankment, London**

"You can open your eyes, now, Niks," Jacob smiles, as he leads Nikki by the hand along the riverside, towards a bench. In his other hand is a carrier-bag full of food, and in his pocket is a surprise – a good, life changing surprise, and a surprise that he knows she will love, and will relish.

The months since they both started at Oakland have both been the best and worst of their lives: they've been the best, because it's when they were together, and they've had each other, through it all, and because they've both, finally, allowed the security blankets of their accents to fade. They're just Nikki and Jake, now, and that's all they ever want to be. Ever.

They've been the worst months, too, though; Nikki and her father have never seen eye to eye, but these past few months, since the tenth anniversary of Nikki's mother's death, have been the worst. They've rowed, and they've stopped speaking, and they've chosen to ignore each other entirely – and to the outside world, it's been a teenage girl's rebellion. To Nikki, and Victor, and Jake, though, it has been so much more. It's been impassioned, and brutal, and painful, and so, so much more. Jake's always been there, for her, though, just as she's always been there for him.

His mother isn't in Siberia anymore. She isn't in Siberia anymore, because everyone can see that the Soviet Union is collapsing, and despite the more liberal attitudes of its current leader, Mikhail Gorbachev, he knows that he's clinging to power. There's a power struggle at the top, and no one notices when a few foreigners go missing in Siberia; pathologists and anthropologists on sabbatical, taken in the middle of the night, and disposed of, and that's all their families ever know. The Soviet government apologises, but all control has long since been lost, and no one knows who was behind it all. They can guess, but they will never know for sure.

Jake and his father had always had a good relationship, up until that point, but it just came as such a shock to them all. Nikki became his rock, and he became hers, and suddenly, they were both orphans of circumstance.

They are lucky to have each other – because they _only_ have each other.

Nikki has known for a long time that Jake had something big planned for her birthday, and she feels as though they both deserve it. So, before she opens her eyes, she pivots on the spot, and reaches up a little to find his face, cupping it gently in her hand, and kissing him. It is warm, and loving, and gentle, and familiar, and more than anything, it is comforting. It's nothing special, because of all of that, but it's nice, none-the-less.

As she pulls back, she opens her eyes, and glances out across the Thames, seeing the sunlight glitter on the water's surface. "It's beautiful…" she whispers, allowing him to pull her back to the bench, so that she's sitting, and he's standing.

Before she knows it, he's on one knee. Before she knows it, he's pulled the surprise out of his pocket; a glittering ring that she recognises. She's been shown it before. It's his mother's. She left it behind before she went to Siberia, because she knew it was dangerous, and that she might never come back, and because she wanted Jacob to have something to remember her by.

When Nikki sees this, her breath hitches in her throat, and tears begin to slip down her cheeks. She doesn't hear what he says, but she sees the imploring look in his eyes, and she nods, and whispers "yes, Jacob, yes… a million times…"

She throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him again, and, in that moment, the problems, and the arguments, and the deaths are forgotten.

As is the picnic.

*

Two months later, they sit in exactly the same spot, on exactly the same bench, but something is different. They've come from a registry office. Neither of their fathers paid enough attention to the forms they were signing to know that they'd just given their sixteen-year-old charges permission to marry, and, although the registrar looked disapproving, there was nothing he could do.

It was perfectly legal.

"Nikki?" Jacob asks, absent-mindedly spinning the gold band on his finger round and round.

"Mmm?" she asks, leaning her head on his shoulder, and feeling him begin to play with her hair, instead of his rings. She has suddenly become very conscious of what the people around them are thinking, given that it's only just the school holidays, and that Jake is in a smart shirt, tie and trousers, and that she's in a white linen summer dress, with his jacket around her shoulders.

"I love you." He whispers, into her hair. "Do you think we've done the right thing?"

"Probably not." She shrugs, no longer caring what people think, "but it's no one else's problem, if we have. Our lives, right?"

He squints at her, wondering if this is all she has to say. He's grown used to her not exactly being an optimist, and he's suddenly wondering whether, maybe, he'd underestimated the power of her pessimism.

"But," she smiles, turning back to him, so that their faces are just centimetres apart, "I love you, too." She kisses him on the cheek before she continues, and relishes the blush she sees rising up his cheeks. "And," she says, pausing to kiss him again, "that's all that really matters, isn't it?"

"Yes." He nods, "that is all that really matters."

A moment passes in blissful silence, as they realise that they have a whole, long summer ahead of them, before exam results, and Sixth Form. They know that they'll have to pretend not to be married at Sixth Form, because it'll be too complicated, otherwise, but they don't mind. They'll know. They've thought it all through.

They're going to live in their own homes, until their second year of Sixth Form, when Jacob's older sister, Emily, will be back from Canada, where she's been living and working for a while. She's the only member of either of their families who knows about their marriage, but she doesn't mind. She wonders if her brother will grow to regret it, and if it will hurt Nicola, the girl she's heard so much about, but she doesn't mind. She knows how tough life has been for them both, recently, and she sees how they crave the security that marriage will afford them. She has offered to let them live with her, in the flat she's been saving for. They'll have to chip in for food, and for rent, but it'll be alright, because they'll be free. They'll be allowed to be together, and they'll be free.

"Do you think that my Dad will kill me?" Nikki asks, eventually.

Jake shrugs. "He'll probably not notice."

"The dress and the rings might be a slight give-away…" she smiles, giggling slightly.

He wraps his arm around her, and pushes her slightly, in the small of the back, causing her to lean forward. She does so, and he sweeps her hair from behind her neck, to her shoulder, so that he can undo the delicate gold chain which hangs there. He takes it in his hand, and then reaches out to take hers, gently pulling the two rings representing their relationship down her fourth finger. She looks confused, but allows him to do so, smiling as she sees him thread them onto the chain, as pendants. He leans across and fastens it back round her neck.

"There." He smiles. "Now it's just a summer dress."

"We need a wedding photo."

"We do." He agrees. "But I think we may have to make-do with a photo-booth strip, because I don't have a camera with me…"

"That's OK." She smiles, kissing him gently on the lips. "So long as it's us, it doesn't matter, does it?"

"No." he agrees. "It really doesn't. It's just me and you, now, Nikki."

"That's Mrs Alexander-Donnelly, to you." She giggles, as he kisses her again.


	6. Daisies In Her Hair

**A/N: Really sorry for crazy-crazy fast updates, but I love this story too much. I can't keep it all to myself, now I have it written...**

* * *

Daisies In Her Hair

_"Tell me everything I want to hear;  
Like that was your favourite year"_

**15****th**** July 2010, Nikki's house**

She sits on her sofa, a glass of red-wine on the table in front of her, and a photo-booth strip in her hand. It is nineteen years to the day since she got married, and she's only just realised. Every anniversary since the split has come and gone, completely forgotten, but this one is different, because of Emily.

The girl in the photo is dressed in a white. She has daisies in her hair, which flows loosely, and she has two rings on a chain around her neck. The boy, taller, and stockier than she, with piercing green eyes and bright red hair, holds her close to him, differently in each of the two photos on the strip. In the first one, his arms are draped around her shoulders, and they're both smiling toothily into the camera; in the second, she has _her_ arms around _his_ neck, and she's pressing a kiss to his cheek.

A tear escapes her, as she stares at these photos, and she wonders, absently, whether Jacob is remembering, now, too. It's been so long since they've spoken about anything except Em that Nikki can't help but wonder.

She picks her iPod off the coffee table, and puts the headphones in, turning the dial until she finds their song; _(Everything I do) I do it for you_ was the anthem of the summer of 1991, but, for Nicola and Jacob Donnelly, it was _their_ song. It was a million other couple's songs, too, but it was theirs, and every time she hears it, it brings her back to that blissful summer, when they hadn't a care in the world, when they were happiest, and when it was just them.

It was a summer before they knew what responsibility was, and before they knew what it was that they were fighting for, and before the cares and troubles which would follow descended on their shoulders.

She hadn't planned for it to turn out that way, she knows, but it had. She can't exactly be thankful for what had happened in the weeks and months and years that followed that blissful summer, but she wouldn't have missed them for the world, and, in a strange way, she's looking forward to work tomorrow. It's been a very long time since she and Emily have spent any extended periods of time together, and she's looking forward to it. She wants to know how much of her daughter belongs to Jacob, and how much is hers; Emily's frame, and eyes, she knows, are hers, but her hair belongs to Jake. Her mind, and her passions, are, as far as Nikki knows, shared.

Since Emily was twelve, Nikki has sent her letters and cards filled with the details of her work, and her presents have been boxsets of crime dramas, or Agatha Christie novels. She has desperately wanted for Emily to become a forensic for as long as she can remember, but she's known for an equally long time that her father's chosen discipline – quite literally rocket science – would be just as tempting. She's also known that Jacob wouldn't mind, either way, because as a forensic, Emily would be taking after his mother, as well as her own.

Nikki is pulled from her thoughts, and from her tears, and memories and music, by a knock at the door. Emily isn't going to get to witness the fight she's so desperately wanted to see for so long, because it's not going to happen at work. Harry has a passion burning deep inside him, and he _needs_ to know, right now, in the way that most people need air to breathe.

Nikki guesses it's Harry, and drops the photographs, crossing to the kitchen to get an extra wine glass before she answers the door. She wipes the tears from her eyes, and calls "coming", so that he doesn't walk away. She knew, as soon as she took the day off, that Harry would be curious, and that he'd want to interrogate her. She has her answers prepared, but, equally, she's not prepared to tell it all to him now. He'll have to let her take it in her own time.

She braces herself, as she opens the door, for the onslaught which is sure to follow. The look on Harry's face tells her she was right to get that wineglass, and that she should, perhaps, have found some shot glasses, too. She smiles, wanly, and says "time to face the music?" He nods;

"Pretty much." He says, taking the wine glass, and making his way through to her living room.

As he sits himself down on the sofa, he leans across to pick up the wine bottle, and spots the photos. Nikki hadn't tried to hide them; she knew he'd work it out in the end. He picks them up, and glances down at them, waiting for her to make her to join him. The girl in the pictures is undoubtedly Nikki… and she looks like she's only, what? Sixteen? And in a wedding dress? Surely it's his imagination…

As he thinks this, a conversation from a couple of months back randomly flickers into his mind, and he begins to wonder;

"_It's like… getting married at sixteen!" she declares, storming away._

"_WHAT?!" he shouts, incredulous. She turns back to him for long enough to call a retort – "you don't know what you're missing!" – before she disappears, in a cloud of anger, and hatred, and bitterness which he doesn't understand…_

Until now. Now, he understands. Now, he knows why she was so bitter, that day, and why that argument, from her side, seemed rehearsed. She was repeating lines from a past argument, and he was helping her relive something she'd tried to bury.

The girl in the photo _is_ Nikki; and the boy is almost certainly Emily's father, judging by the shade of his hair, and the sparkle in his eyes. And… _wow_.

So much he didn't know…

As she sits back down beside him, she completely ignores what he's holding, choosing, instead, to put Bryan Adams back on her iPod, and drown herself in it, again.

He sighs, leaning towards her, and flashing the photographs in front of her eyes. This is not how he had expected tonight to go. She blinks, and he notices the tears in her eyes. He looks at her, questioningly, but she ignores him.

Finally, he glances down at the iPod, and reads the words on the screen; "(Everything I do) I do it for you". That song… the summer of 1991… that song… it… it must have been their song.

The girl in the photograph is smiling, he notices, for the first time. She looks happy. She looks like she truly loves that guy, and he looks like he truly loves her, in return. Suddenly, Harry sees all of this in a different light; Emily isn't the illegitimate child of a teenage fling, given up for adoption, or similar. She's the daughter of a marriage that was never meant to be, but that seemed so beautiful and so right at the time. She's truly loved, by her mother, and that's why she's been hidden for so long. She was hidden out of care, and protection, because Nikki couldn't bear for her to know how _wrong_ her life had gone, since leaving Emily's father – assuming it was Nikki who left.

She'd once had stability in her life, but that was gone. Since then, she must have had a hundred thousand boyfriends, but she can't have had one she loved, that much.

Suddenly, Harry regrets judging. Suddenly, Harry wishes he'd asked about those years in her life before, and that he'd told her how he feels, before, so that she could feel that stability again.

Instead of telling her, now, though, he reaches across and pulls the headphones from her ears, and says "she has your eyes."

Nikki nods. "Everything about her appearance is mine."

"Except her hair."

"Yes. That was always Jacob's." she agrees, solemnly.

"Jacob?" Harry asks, although he already knows.

"Her father." Nikki tells him. "The boy in the photo."

"He looks nice."

"He is."

Present tense, Harry notes; "He _is_" nice. Not 'was'. 'Is'. They're still in touch. He doesn't speak, allowing Nikki to carry on, if she wants to.

She does; "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you."

"I had no right to know." Harry states, diplomatically.

"I still should have told you."

A pause; they are both trying to work out what to say, now. Neither of them had expected it to be like this.

"She's just like you, you know." Harry says, eventually. "She's the brightest, most intelligent, and dedicated student we've ever had."

"She's been ready for this all her life." Nikki smiles. "Every letter I ever wrote her was about work. I wanted so much for her to be a pathologist."

"Why?"

"Her father's an astrophysicist." Nikki says, as if this is a perfectly reasonable explanation. She hits Harry, when he laughs.

"Do you get to see her often?" Harry asks, massaging his upper arm where Nikki's slap is still stinging.

"Not really." She sighs. "Once a year, maybe. She lives in York."

"Is her father…" Harry pauses, unable to remember the name.

"Jake." Nikki says.

"Mmm." Harry nods, pausing, "is Jake a professor, then?"

"At the university, yes." Nikki nods. "She's lucky. He loves her very much."

"So do you." Harry observes, and she nods;

"I just wish I got to see her more."

Harry decides to change the subject; Nikki clearly loves her daughter very, very much, and misses her very much, too.

"How did her father take the news that she wanted to go into pathology?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"Well." She smiles, "his Mum was a pathologist, too. That's what got me started on it."

"Oh."

Nikki smiles, and squeezes Harry's hand. He's taking this surprisingly well. "I really am sorry that I didn't tell you." She says.

"That OK." Harry says, pulling her to him, and wrapping an arm around her, relishing the tingling feeling she leaves on his skin. He leans down and kisses her head, as she snuggles into him. He had been prepared for jealousy and hatred and anger, when he arrived. He'd been prepared to hunt Emily's father down, and beat him to a pulp, but that all seems unnecessary, now. Nikki and Jacob are clearly still friends, and their daughter is a truly magnificent human being – a real credit to the pair of them.

Instead of wanting to hit the guy, he now finds himself wanting to know everything.

"Tell me." Harry says, leaning his head on top of Nikki's, where it rests on his shoulder. "Tell me your story, Niks."

"Really?" she asks, glancing up at him. He nods, and takes her other hand in his, entwining their fingers. The hug is familiar; the hand-holding is not. Nikki takes that to mean that she is completely forgiven, and that Harry isn't going to let her daughter get in the way of… things.

"Alright." She nods. "I'll tell you." She pauses; "but, please," she begs, apprehension in her voice, "don't judge me."

"I won't, Niks." Harry smiles, kissing her hair, gently, again. "I promise I won't"


	7. She's Going To Cry

**A/N: A pretty intense chapter, m'afraid… it jumps about in time, a bit, too… :-/**

**Sorry for the seventy-six updates in a day. I've spent ****literally**** all day writing, and I just finished the whole thing… so this is the last update today! HONEST! :)**

**

* * *

**She's Going To Cry

_"We had our future figured out  
We knew a love like ours would always save the day  
And that we'd always be ok"_

**12****th**** October 1991, Nikki's bedroom**

They've known for a while that it was likely to happen, but that doesn't stop the squeals of happiness and joy and love and rapture when she finally manages to tell him those two little words – "I'm pregnant".

Neither of them quite know what it is they're going to do now, but they decided, definitely, that they're going to keep it. Neither of them has had much luck with their own parents, and so they're determined that, even though he's seventeen, and she's only sixteen, they're going to make a go of it. They're not sure how, but they don't care.

He smiles a glowing smile, and scoops her into his arms and hugs her, and asks her how long she thinks it's been. "A week, maybe?" she hedges. "So… full term will take me into June. Exams are May. Wow."

"Nikki," Jake laughs, "is that really all you're worried about? Missing your exams?"

"No." She smiles, slightly, "but it is kind of convenient, isn't it? I can do my exams, and have a baby, and then we'll have to whole summer with it before we go back to school…"

"Convenient." He agrees, kissing her on the forehead, "almost like we planned it."

"Almost." She nods. "Almost."

*

**24th December 1991, Nikki's room, again**

"My Dad's going to notice." She whispers, into the phone. She stares conspiratorially around, in case her father might happen to walk in on her. She's leaning up against the bedroom door, using all her weight to keep it shut, and with the hand not holding the phone, she's gently stroking her stomach. She's scared about this baby, but she's only scared because of how people will react.

No. Correction: she's only scared because of how her father will react. Because he still doesn't know that she's married.

Everyone else does. Everyone else thinks it's beautifully romantic, if a little scandalous, and everyone else is perfectly happy to ignore it, because they have other things to worry about. Her father, though, doesn't. It's Christmas, tomorrow, and it'll be the first time he's properly seen her in a long time. It'll be the first time they've spent any time together in months.

The voice at the other end of the telephone line – Jacob's voice; Jacob's calm, reassuring, wonderful voice – says "don't worry."

"How can I _not_ worry?" she snaps, wincing as she realises how she sounds. "I'm sorry." She whispers, "I didn't mean it like that."

"It's OK." He assures her, "it'll be OK. We're married, Niks! We're together. We're committed. There's nothing he can say."

"Nothing." She nods, still stroking her stomach.

"What're you doing, tomorrow, anyway?" Jake asks, and Nikki sighs;

"Probably moping. Nothing, really, I don't suppose. My Dad's not exactly the Christmas kind of Dad."

"Mine either, anymore." Jake laments. "We should so something together, instead."

"Mmmmm." She nods, wondering what.

"Let's go to the embankment again." Jake suggests. "Wrap up warm, and take a picnic."

"Mmmm," Nikki agrees, tensing as she hears the front door open. Her father is home, and he's drunk.

"He's back, isn't he?" Jake asks, sensing it.

"Yes."

"Don't worry. Brace yourself, and be strong."

"Ok." She whispers, terrified.

"And, meet me tomorrow."

"Embankment." She whispers, "wrapped up warm."

"One o'clock?"

"Yes."

"I love you, Nikki Donnelly. Forever." He says, "be brave. And I'll see you tomorrow…"

"I love you, too." She murmurs, before she puts the phone down, and pulls her knees to her chest, sobbing into the fabric of her jeans.

*

**25****h**** December 1991, by the Thames**

Nicola Donnelly walks alone, along the banks of the river, towards the bench where she is going to meet her husband. Although they've been married over half a year now, she still struggles to get her head around the concept of 'husband'. Then again, she is only sixteen.

As she walks, she remembers back to that morning, and the fight she had with her father. As she'd predicted, he worked out that she was pregnant. She was only going to be able to wear baggy tops and pretend like that was all they were for so long.

It was a screamy, shouty argument, during which he accused her of having tunnel vision, and told her she was living in a black hole. She told him it wasn't tunnel vision; it was love, and that they were married.

He told her that getting married at sixteen was chronic. He said that she didn't know what she was missing.

She screamed and shouted and yelled, and told him that it was all his fault, anyway; she didn't know what she was missing, because he'd never given her the chance to find out. He'd never let her lead a normal life, and she didn't _want_ to go back to that.

She told him that, now, she'd found someone who loved her, and that was all that mattered. She loved Jake, and Jake loved her. Couldn't he just accept that?

"NO!" he shouted.

And she ran. She's still running now. She's walking away from it all, and she's going to keep walking until she's in her husband's arms.

Then, she's going to cry, and wonder 'what next?'.


	8. Jacob's Father Smiles

Jacob's Father Smiles

_"No sun would set without us_  
_No one we knew could ever doubt us"_

**31****st**** December 1991, Jacob's house**

"You're sure that your Dad doesn't mind me living here for a while?" Nikki asks, again.

"I'm sure." Jacob pulls her close, and holds her tight, on the sofa in his living room. He and his father are on speaking terms, again, which is good, because Nikki and hers most certainly aren't.

"I really don't mind." Jacob's father assures Nikki, handing her a cup of tea. "I wish I'd known that you were… that you were…"

"Married?" Jacob suggests.

"Yes." Jacob's father smiles. He's clearly still trying to wrap his head around everything, but he's trying. He knows, as Victor Alexander does, that all of this is partially his fault. If he'd been there, more, to help his son through everything, then this might not have happened. But, it has, and so he owes it to the two of them to help them work it all out. He's not going to back away from responsibility. "But I do, now, and I'm going to support you. It's been a tough year, but it's nearly New Year. We all deserve a fresh start, don't we?"

"Yes. Thank you, Mr Donnelly." Nikki smiles, holding Jacob's hand to her stomach. Her smile, now, is genuine. She thinks that, maybe, she can grow to like living here.

She thinks that, maybe, she's found her happily ever after.

*

**16****th**** March 1992, St. Thomas's Hospital**

The nurse is smiling. She can tell that, although this couple are young, they're very much together. She thinks that they'll be good parents.

It's not the first time she's seen them, the young girl with the beautiful eyes, and the boy with the auburn hair. She's done scans with them before, and, usually, she doesn't remember patients. This couple, though, she does, because of the way that the boy holds the girl's hand, so lovingly, and because of the look of wonder, mixed with certainty, on their faces.

"This might be cold." She warns the girl, as she squirts the jelly onto her growing bulge. Nikki nods. She knows the drill. She knows the score, and she turns her head from the nurse, to Jake, catching his eye, and smiling. "This time," Nikki says, "we can find out if it's a girl or a boy."

"Do you want to?" Jake asks.

"Yes." Nikki smiles. "I didn't think I would, but I do."

"Me too." Jake smiles. "I didn't think you'd want to, either, though."

Jake leans across to press a gentle kiss to Nikki's temple, as the nurse asks "ready?"

"Yes." They nod, turning to the screen, apprehensively.

"Ok." The nurse explains what they are seeing, and they both smile, enraptured. In that moment, they both know, and the nurse knows, that they will make fantastic parents. She begins making small talk, as she tries to establish the baby's gender;

"What do you both want to do with your lives, then? Are you at college?"

"Yes." Jacob replies. "I want to go into physics, and Niks wants to go into forensics."

"Anthropology." Nikki adds. "I'm from South Africa. I want to go back there, and investigate the apartheid killings."

"That's very noble." The nurse smiles. "Good luck."

"You mean at uni, with a baby?"

"Yes." The nurse smiles, "I've seen thousands of couples your age, though, and none of them have convinced me as much as you."

"What?" Jacob asks, a little confused. He squeezes Nikki's hand, again, reassuring her.

"If anyone can do it, you two can. You'll be incredible parents."

"We hope so." Nikki smiles.

"So," the nurse smiles, "are you ready for the moment of truth?"

"Yes." Nikki smiles, again, pulling Jacob closer to her, and holding his hand to her cheek. "As I'll ever be."

"Well, the baby's healthy. Everything there's OK. And… it's a girl."

Nikki and Jacob stare at the screen, completely lost for words. What do you say to that? Really? There's nothing you _can_ say…

Instead, they just stare. The nurse notices tears building in Nikki's eyes, and she smiles, again. These two will be fine.

*

**21****st**** June 1992, St. Thomas's Hospital**

At three o'clock on the afternoon of 21st June 1992, Emily Nicola Rose Alexander-Donnelly is born. She is healthy, and she is beautiful. She is a bouncing midsummer baby, born to seventeen year old parents, who will love her more than she will ever know.

She is, in every way, perfect.

Just as Nikki predicted, all those months ago, she had time to study for her exams before the baby was born, and Jacob, Nikki and Emily Donnelly now have the whole of the summer holiday to get to know each other, and to live and laugh and love and celebrate, before Nikki and Jake go back to school, to get their A-levels, and get themselves to university.

Everything is perfect.

Everything is absolutely perfect.

*

**3****rd**** May 1993, Emily Donnelly's house**

"The letters are here!" Jacob's big sister, Emily, calls, from the front step. They all heard the post come, but Jake and Nikki couldn't face going to open it themselves. They were too scared. It's D-Day, and instead of going to face their fate, they're curled up in bed, with baby Emily between them, smiling placidly at each other, and waiting.

"I s'pose we should go." Nikki murmurs.

"I guess we should." Jake nods, picking his little daughter up, and holding her close. "Ready?"

"Ready." Nikki nods, taking Jacob's hand, as they pad down the stairs, Jacob first, holding baby Emily, then Nikki.

They glance down at the letters on the doormat, and see two identical letters, marked "University of Oxford".

The moment of truth…


	9. Always Be OK

Always Be OK

_"You looked at me like no one else_  
_But sometimes love just doesn't seem to conquer all"_

**15****th**** July 2000, The Knavesmire, York**

Doctors Jacob Donnelly and Nicola Alexander sit on a rug, in the middle of the racecourse, taking in the sunshine, and watching their daughter run and laugh and play with other children. Emily is perfectly safe, and loved, and beautiful.

It's their ninth wedding anniversary, so Nikki and Jake wanted it to be special. To them, it's proof; they got through school, and they got through university with a little girl in tow. They both made the grades for Oxford, and they both graduates with firsts in their chosen fields. A year ago, they moved back to Jacob's childhood home, and moved into a tiny little terraced house, formerly owned by the chocolate factories. It's not much, but it's big enough for the three of them. Emily is happy. She's at a nice school, and she has nice friends, and her parents love each other dearly.

Jacob has a job as a lecturer at the University of York, in the same faculty as his father once worked for. It's a good job, and it means that they have the stability they've always craved. One day, he'll get a professorship, and he'll run the faculty, and he'll make it one of the best in the country.

Emily will grow up in York, and she'll go to a comprehensive school, not unlike the one that Jake and Nikki met in. It'll be one of the best in the country, and she'll be happy, and cared for, and clever. She'll have the best support possible, and she'll have parents who love her, and who want her to succeed. She'll have the kind of support that Nikki and Jake never had.

Nikki, though… Nikki knows what she wants to do. She knows that Jacob knows it, too. She wants to go back to South Africa. She wants to work with the police there to solve the apartheid crimes, as she has said she would ever since she was fifteen, since that first lunchtime, on that wall at the end of the playing field at Oakland High School, before that very first kiss.

"You're thinking about it, again, aren't you, Niks?" Jacob asks. Nikki nods. He's known her too long; he'd see through her straight away if she lied. "You want to go back there, don't you?"

"Yes."  
"But you don't want to leave Em."

"No."

"It's OK, Nikki." Jacob says. "It'll always be OK. We'll always be OK."

"We won't." Nikki sighs, leaning in to him, and resting her head on his shoulder. "We won't. If I go back to South Africa, I'll disappear. I'll be someone else. You'll not recognise me. And I owe you and Emily more than that."

They'd both known, all along, that it would come to this. Ever since Nikki graduated in anthropology, they knew that this was what was going to happen, but neither of them had dared voice it. Neither of them had ever dared to, because it would have been tempting fate.

The words were said, now, though, and there was no way that they could be unsaid.

"So," Jake says, wiping a tear from his eye, "is this it, Nikki?"

"I think so." Nikki nods, sadly, "I think so."

"It's been fun." Jake smiles, quoting something. Nikki can't quite remember what.

"It has." She nods. "It really has."

"What're we going to tell Emily?" Jake asks.

"Tell her that Mummy has to go away for a while, and that she'll phone and write and email as often as she can." Nikki says, wiping tears from her own eyes, now, "and that she'll visit, too."

"Will you?"

"Yes." Nikki says, resolute. "I'll always love you, Jacob Donnelly. You know that?"

"I do." Jacob nods.

"Good."

"Good."

"If you see other people," Nikki says, "make sure they're good to Em."

Jacob nods, again: "and if you do, make sure they're good to _you_."

"I will, Jake. I promise."

Then, she leans in, and kisses him one last time. This time, it tastes of the champagne they've been drinking, instead of strawberry chewing gum. They've come a long way, but it's over. They both know that it's over.

Nikki stands, walking away from Jacob, across the vast grassy expanse before them, and scoops Emily up into her arms, holding her close. Then, she puts her daughter down, back on the grass. She crouches down, so that she's at Emily's level, and she pushes a strand of Emily's beautiful hair behind her ear.

"Mummy has to go, now, Em." She says, tears flowing freely now, "Mummy has to go, and she's very sorry. I might not see you for a long, long time, but I promise to write and phone and email whenever I can. OK?" Emily look horribly confused, but she nods. "You be good for Daddy, won't you?"

"Yes."

"I love you, Emily Nicola Rose Alexander-Donnelly. I love you with all my heart."

"Love you, too, Mummy."

Nikki leans down, and kisses her daughter softly on the cheek, before she stands up, and walks away.

That night, they all cry themselves to sleep.

*

**20****th**** September 2000, Johannesburg**

Divorce papers. Mutual consent, amicable agreement, father gets custody of the single child of the marriage. No settlement to be paid. Nikki scan reads the papers one last time, her eyes lingering on her signature before folding the sheets into an envelope.

This was it, then. The end.

*

**25****th**** December 2008, York**

Their new house is nice, Nikki notes, as she climbs out of the car, and braces herself. This is going to be a very, very weird Christmas. Christmas with her first love, his second wife, and her daughter…

She's had to be especially evasive, over the last week, when Harry and Leo had both asked her to spend Christmas with them. On balance, she knows, she'd rather be with them, in comfortable happiness, in London, rather than here, but she owes it to Emily. It'll be their first Christmas together since the divorce.

She's happy that Jacob has someone else, now. She, too, is an astrophysicist. Her name is Alice, and she's lovely. She's good to Nikki, and she's good to Emily, and she's clearly besotted with Jacob, as he is with her.

Nikki was determined to enjoy today, and she's been strong and smiley and full of beans all day, but having made it up to her room, to change for supper, she sits down on her bed, and rests her head in her hands and cries. It's not fair that Jacob has someone, and she doesn't.

Emily hears her crying, on her way to the bathroom, and taps gently on the door. "Mum?" she asks, "can I come in?" Nikki chokes out a "yes", and she's soon engulfed in a wonderful hug from her daughter. "I've missed you, Mum." Emily says, into her mother's hair.

"I've missed you, too, Em. So much." Nikki sighs, holding her daughter close.

"How've you been, then?" Emily asks. "Really, I mean. Not like you always say on the phone and in your letters. How've you _really_ been?"

"Alright, I suppose." Nikki laughs, loving how easily Emily can see through the careful façade she's built up.

"Really?"

"I thought so." Nikki admits, "until just now."

"Oh?" Emily asks, questioningly. Nikki marvels, as she watches this, at exactly how alike they are. Emily is, in every way, hers. Except her hair. She has her father's hair.

"Until I saw your Dad and Alice, I thought I was fine. Now, I wonder what I'm missing."

"Do you still love him?" Emily asks. "Dad, I mean."

"I suppose part of me always will, Em." Nikki smiles. "He was my first love. But that's not what I think I'm missing."

"There's someone else, isn't there?" Emily asks, jumping up and down where she sits. "It's that guy you work with, isn't it?"

Nikki nearly chokes; "what?" she asks.

"The guy in the photo with you, in that last letter you sent." Emily smiles, reading her mother's expression perfectly, "the tall-dark-and-handsome one."

"I've never heard anyone describe Harry as tall-dark-and-handsome!" Nikki laughs, "but I'm sure he'd love you for it."

"It is him, though, isn't it, Mum?" Emily asks.

"Yes." Nikki admits. Because it's Christmas. And if you can't confide in your daughter at Christmas when can you?

Her phone buzzes, then, and she glances down at the screen. Harry. She shows Emily, who leans in to kiss her on the cheek before skipping out.

"Hi, Harry." Nikki says, smiling, now, "Merry Christmas."


	10. Epilogue

**A/N: So this is it... the epilogue! I've loved this story, and I'm already missing it so much that I'm starting a one-shot sequel now... and I'll write a multi-chap one later :) **

**Thank you for all the reviews and comments! LOVE XXXX**

* * *

Epilogue

_"And would you know me now  
Would you lay me down beside you  
Tell me all the things I long to hear  
Like that was your favourite year"_

**15****th**** July 2010, Nikki's house**

"Wow…" Harry breathes, having been enraptured through the whole story. "Wow." He doesn't seem to be able to think of anything else to say. He just stares at Nikki, as though he's seeing her in a completely new light… which, Nikki realises, he probably is.

Silence descends, and Nikki turns back to her iPod, listening to Bryan Adams, again, until she remembers the photo albums. She crosses the room, and opens one of the cupboards by the door, lifting two heavy albums out. She passes them to Harry, with a smile.

He takes them, and opens the top one. The first thing in it is an ultra-sound scan, dated 1991. Emily. The second is a young Nikki and the red haired boy from the photographs, sitting on a hospital bed, and proudly smiling down at the little girl in Nikki's arms.

Harry flicks through both albums, pausing on certain pictures: Nikki's graduation; Emily and both her parents, at Christmas, when she was about three; the little girl's first day of school; her Brownie enrolment; on the racecourse Nikki had described, with champagne, and both parents, the day that it all changed; and then several photos of Emily, alone. These, Harry realises, are of the time after Nikki left for South Africa. In between are a few shots of Em and Nikki through the years, some in London, some in York. There's one of that Christmas she mentioned, too; Nikki and a sixteen-year-old Emily, smiling into the camera, amongst all of Nikki's ex-husband's family. That must have been a tough year. It must all have been tough.

Nikki watches as Harry flicks through the photos, noticing which ones his eyes rest on for longest. She wonders, all the while, what he's thinking.

In the end, she can restrain herself no longer: "say something, Harry." She whispers, "please say something."

"I wish you'd told me." Harry says.

"Me too." Nikki nods.

"She's an amazing girl."

"I know."

"Is that your wedding ring?" Harry asks, reaching out to touch the chain around Nikki's neck, pulling it gently out from under the fabric of her shirt. Two rings hang delicately from it, and there is no use lying, Nikki knows, because the evidence is there, clear as day.

"Yes."

"For what it's worth," Harry comments, "I don't think Donnelly suits you."

"Oh." Nikki says, trying desperately to read his expression.

"Mmm." Harry nods. "In my mind, I'd always imagined you as a Cunningham."

"What?!" Nikki splutters, spraying red wine everywhere as she speaks, but, oddly, not caring.

That's when Harry leans down to kiss her.

It's also when she remembers that she had told him the part of the story where she told her daughter that she loved him.

Strangely, though, she doesn't regret this in the least.

"_Tell me all the things I long to hear  
Like that was your favourite year"_


End file.
